


Sin-Eater

by Sauvage



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Angst obviously, Death, Gen, His name means 'little dark one' and I saw an opportunity, If you thought Kieran was a wreck before you haven't seen nothing yet, Kieran suffers, Other, The existential crisis of being a sin-eater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauvage/pseuds/Sauvage
Summary: “A sin-eater is a person who consumes a ritual meal in order to spiritually take on the sins of a deceased person. The food was believed to absorb the sins of a recently dead person, thus absolving the soul of the person. Sin-eaters, as a consequence, carried the sins of all people whose sins they had eaten.” (Wikipedia)Inspired by Aaron Mahnke’s Lore (Episode 112: Facets)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Sin-Eater

The sin-eater was born out of the social necessity to have a manifestation of grief and closure in the case of sudden death, their duty to absolve the soul of its sins in the absence of a priest. The consumption of the bread and wine was believed to transfer the unconfessed sins of the dead individual to the sin-eater themselves, cleansing the deceased of their guilts.

The sin-eater, however, would have those sins on their own souls along with ones that they had accumulated in the past and would in the future, guaranteeing that their own souls would be damned to the blackest pits of hell.

The sin-eater, to any community they belonged to, was a necessary evil to have around to grant closure to the family that had lost a child by an unforeseeable accident, or the person that was murdered over reasons that the sin-eater themselves would never know. The sin-eater themselves, however, would not be given any sort of relief at all.

As soon as their meager fee was paid for their services, the bowls and cup were burned as to be cleansed of the blackness that had tainted them, the sin-eater retreating outside of the community to their own abode, their path marked by the people who steered out of their way and their suspicious stares, their hands motioning to make the sign that wards off evil.

Yes, this was the harsh reality that Kieran White was somewhat accustomed to.

* * *

As he sat on an old stool, his threadbare clothes caked with accumulated filth, he ate of a stale loaf of bread if only to silence the incessant rumblings and pangs of his stomach. His hovel was barren, only a sunken wooden frame with a thin mattress and holey sheets set adjacent to a small stone fireplace with soot scattered around it, the closed windows and door doing nothing to keep the brutal cold from invading the space. He no longer noticed it, used to the chill of death that wrapped around him like a blanket.

He no longer remembers how he came to be this town’s sin-eater, only that this was his reality. The corpse was his altar, the bread and wine his offering, the payment his token, and the populace his unwilling believers, putting their woes on a god that absolved their dead of their sins only to take them upon himself and be cast out from the congregation.

A single knock yanked him from his empty thoughts, his dark shaggy head turning towards the door. He gave a sigh, the groaning of the wooden stool intensifying as he pushed himself from the crooked table and got up to open the door. A man stood there, his deep brown eyes darkened with grief, sadness and a numbness that echoed his own. From what Kieran could see, he was usually brighter, but then again, everyone was until death gathered up their loved ones on swift wings. Without a word, the man turned away and began to walk towards the town. Kieran grabbed his old jacket and waited a moment before following, the distance not too close if not for the sake of the grieving man’s honor being kept intact.

The forested area gradually thinned out to shrubbery and grass, only to be overcome by the farmer’s settlements and their already harvested fields, the road turning from rocky and loose to one more treaded and flat. The fields were left idle as the majority of the farmers made their way to the place where the corpse presumably was, people slowly creeping towards the MacMillon family farm. From the distance, he looked to see Mr. MacMillon himself at the edge of tears, his big hands gentle on his wife’s feeble shoulders as her body racketed with barely suppressed sobs. The younger children clung to their mother’s skirts, their usually jovial faces twisted in anguish and pain, crying freely and without shame. The eldest MacMillon son stood vigil over the body, bravely attempting to not let his face betray his roiling emotions.

The corpse itself was on a table, the condition of it suggested that the young man had died a fast, but gruesome death. A cap did much to cover the head that was split wide open, the crusted blood that has missed the washing of his body. His body was pale, the liquid life no longer flowing through it, his lips shifting into a bruised purple.

No longer bothering to pour over any more of the details, Kieran set out to complete the task he had, and in the blink of an eye, his features had become dark and foreign, his face stone-still and devoid of all life. He was no longer Kieran, but the sin-eater, come to absolve the soul of it’s sin. The crowd that had gathered around the corpse parted, briefly tolerating his presence so he could do his work, as much as the people’s disgusted eyes and bodies leaning away from him would indicate.

The loaf of bread had been set over the body, the wine being shakily poured by an older daughter of the family and with unsteady hands put on the corpse, a stool being hastily brought in front of it. Kieran took a deep breath and with the skill of one who had done it countless times before, took and broke the bread before eating of it. The small crowd watched on in a gross fascination and tainted reverence, feeling as if they could see the sins of the young man being infused with the inky blackness of the sin-eater’s soul. Once the bread was eaten, he drank of the wine to the dregs, not leaving a single blood-red drop behind in the wooden container.

Standing up from the accursed altar and his offering, he turned to briefly address the small crowd: “I give easement and rest now to thee, dear man. Come not down the lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.”

Mr. MacMillon dropped a few pennies on the ground before he, his wife, and their children made their way over to prepare the burial of the body. Kieran took the change and made his way to leave under the scrutinizing gazes of the passerby. Their eyes bore into him as he retreated, treating him with disdain and the assumption that comes with being less than human. The bread and wine sat curdling in his stomach, the sins seeping into his bones and body as he felt the burden of his role weigh heavier on him than before, always heavier than the last.

His feet barely carried him into the threshold of his abode before falling on his knees and dispensing of the contents in his stomach, this day's work more unsavory than others. It wasn’t the first time he had felt as such and it would not be the last, for as long as there was sudden death, there would be the dark god cleansing the soul on it’s way to higher places, higher places that he would never be able to see for himself. Anguishing, he crawled onto his mattress and looked out through the window thrown ajar by the wind, gazing past the forestry and into the town and people he had served for so long.

He could not blame them for treating him like they do, afraid to touch him out of the fear that the sins he carried would blot onto them, unable to be washed off, for those who did despite that risk would be taken by death itself as punishment. He remembered a young boy around when he began his servitude to the town and their grief. He had attempted to give him some food, only for Kieran himself to eat the boy’s sins a couple of weeks later, him falling into a deep ditch in the woods in which he now made his dwelling. He doesn’t remember the boy's name, for it was around that time that he had resolved to never get attached to them, alive or dead.

The sin-eater was born out of the social necessity to have a manifestation of grief and closure in the case of sudden death, their duty to absolve the soul of its sins in the absence of a priest.

But then, one has to ask the question: _who will absolve the sin-eater?_

**Author's Note:**

> So you made it. First of all congrats for doing so. Methinks this is a very unorthodox type of fic to be writing about in this fanbase in particular, and I thank everyone who clicks on it, gives it a kudo or two, or comments on it. I apologize for any inconsistencies with the lore, but I decided to take some artistic liberties. This is also my first fic, so if I ever want to write more, I hope to improve. This was a spur in the moment fic, so if it seems off, that's why. Thanks for reading. This is Sauvage, and perhaps you will see me next time.


End file.
